


The Angel and the Scarecrow

by uberneko_zero



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Death Note, Angels, Chibi, Cute, Death Note - Freeform, Humor, M/M, PG, Scarecrows, Sweet, actually wrote NON-porn, animal side characters, fairy tale, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uberneko_zero/pseuds/uberneko_zero
Summary: L is a scarecrow, stuffed with straw and a mild existential crisis. His journey begins the day one of his crow friends brings him a gift, a special feather. Light is the youngest in the host of heaven and he's having trouble keeping up appearances, and trouble keeping himself together, especially as his wings are becoming overcome with tarnished feathers.





	1. Part 1: The Littlest Angel

**A/N: This story is one of those random, crackfic misfirings of the brain. It is not intended to be hyper-serious, and is here merely for whatever entertainment value you, the readers, might gain from it. It is styled kind of like a fairy tale. As the title implies, I pictured everyone to be smaller, cuter versions of their normal selves as I wrote this (though not children). I am also not making any religious statements. It was just a fun little quasi-dramatic story I wrote. Hope you find it to be amusing. :D**

**__________**

 

**Chibi Theatre:**

**The Angel and the Scarecrow**

Part 1: The Littlest Angel

_________________________________________________________

  

The littlest angel was bored of heaven.

He was bored of singing, of strumming his lyre. He was tired of smiling with the warm radiance of soft, golden sunbeams, and tired of laughing with his brethren for the sole purpose of filling the skies with the tinkling chiming of their mirth, like silver bells.

He was the youngest, only several thousand years old, and he felt his age like a heavy weight upon him. He had questions, and odd thoughts circling his mind, things that weren’t suited to blindly following tradition and being nothing but splendor and light. 

And that is what they’d taken to calling him, in a fashion he found to be rather close to mockery, for angels: Light. They thought it clever, to refer to him by _that_ name as he had no True name yet, and he being more sullen and precocious than they would have liked. It wasn’t entirely mean-spirited. The heavenly host doted on him almost cloyingly, praising his luminescence, his songs, and the potential he had, even as one so new. It, at times, had forced him to seek a hiding place, to escape the pressure and constant responsibilities.

However, the host looked down upon this and became impatient with him. When he was about, they urged him to sing, to play, to shine his Essence through the beautiful, refined heavenly body he had been given. It is only a matter of time then, they claimed, and he would one day be granted his extra wing and ‘The Name That Is Beyond Knowing’.

Light wasn’t sure he wanted to be granted these things, for it meant maturation for an angel, _Ascension_.  And with Ascension came more responsibility and less freedom. Those angels that climbed the ranks couldn’t see the earth, and every time the sky opened up to admit one more of them to the higher areas of heaven, the outpouring of song, praise, and joy was enough to leave him ill with anxiety. He couldn’t chain himself to that level of production, he just couldn’t. He had interests he wanted to pursue, and his own individuality. If he was selected for Ascension, he feared the worst - assimilation.

Yet they all had such high hopes for him.

“So young,” said they. “So talented.” They believed him to be favored, that his exceptional beauty was a sign. Some envied him, though they tried to hide it. Some resented him his shining, golden brown locks, his snow white wings, his skin which so easily radiated the light of his Essence and his eyes which were like glowing amber.

He couldn’t help the form he was given. It seemed foolish to him that others would judge him by it.

“Light, Light!” Someone was calling for him.

Light rested his chin on his hand and said nothing, moodily hiding behind a bank of storm clouds until they, hopefully, lost interest.

“Light!”

That name bothered him. He’d been called by it for so long now, being the butt of that little joke, that he’d forgotten what name came before.

“There you are!” someone exclaimed. 

 _Damn it_ , he thought, cursing as angels ought not to. Oh, but not aloud. Never aloud. So, it would be his little secret. He wearily got to his feet, flapping his lily white wings with a flourish. He felt a slight sting in one, then a pull or prickling feeling which he would have to investigate later. “Greetings to you,” he said, smiling as he was supposed to and flaring his Essence through his skin as a gesture of respect.

“We are to begin the high songs, Light. Your presence is desired. Would you do us the honor?”

It all sounded pleasant enough, but the translation was, ‘Come with me, right now, or consequence shall find you.’

Angelic threats may seem an impossibility, but you could be assured that they were quite real, if not a bit obscured by flowery speech. Sword holders, of course, were a different breed. If they felt like being threatening, you would know it. Or you would find yourself to be quickly dead. They didn’t dawdle, those soldier angels, and perhaps as a lot they were a bit hasty. (It was usually only the earth people who fared badly at their hands, however.)

 

* * *

 

After serving a 12 course meal of _Exaltation_ , Light was exhausted. He fluttered his way to a far off cloud and made his bed upon it.

“Damn merrymaking,” he muttered to himself. It took a lot of work to output all the positive energy they were expected to produce.

A sharp twinge in his wing make wince dreadfully. He rolled over and fanned his wing out before him. Searching for the source of the pain, he sorted through his feathers and found one to be tarnished.

_What the?_

But wait, it wasn’t just one. There was another as well, a dull, chalky silver touching its surface. The pain was from where it joined the wing. It looked ugly amidst all of the glowing white.

Troubled, Light grabbed hold of one of those feathers and PULLED.

Pain exploded behind his eyes and he fell to his knees, panting and issuing a moan of agony.

After what seemed like a small eternity, the feeling began to pass. He uncurled his clenched fist to look at the ruffled feather upon his palm. As unsightly as it had looked as a part of him, it did not look quite so offensive now. There was a slight shimmer to the silver, which had quickly overcome the entire feather.

Not wanting to be seen with such a thing, he let it fall to the world below, to be destroyed or forgotten, however chance would have it. 

Bracing himself, he then set about removing the other one. 

* * *

 

TBC

 

 


	2. Part 2: The Scarecrow

**Chibi Theatre:**

**The Angel and the Scarecrow**

Part 2: The Scarecrow

* * *

The scarecrow was a rough-looking fellow, eyes like blackened flint and dark hair like a sea-tossed storm. He held his arms out to the sky every noon, night, and morn.

He did his job well and gladly, out in the fields, daily. But he was not happy. No folk came to see him, to speak any tidings. In fact, they were taken to do the opposite.

For many years, he told himself, “Work harder and they will come see you. Do a better job so they will congratulate you.”

He kept sleepless eyes on the fields as seasons passed, and yet the people also passed, heads down and faces turned aside.

His heart would be heavy, if he had one.

But he was naught but a scarecrow, filled with straw, owner of a hat which he’d lost long ago.

 _Maybe one day I’ll leave this field_ , he thought to himself.

The crows and small animals he was supposed to fend off appeared to him more sociable than those that wanted them gone. _Yes_ , he confided to Crow #2 (his name for it), as it settled peaceably upon his shoulder. _I think I will do just that._

The scarecrow looked up at the deep azure blue sky and thought, _I’ll just wait for a sign._

* * *

 

Crow #3, an old girl with one white crested wing hopped upon the ground, spying something interesting.

 **Caw!** she shrieked, enjoying the sound of her own voice. **Caaaw!** she proclaimed again, sharing with the world her song.

She hopped again, with dark grey feet that seemed to have little springs, and looked curiously at the dirt between the weeds. She snapped up a bug, that looked too tasty to give up, before beaking the strange thing that lay beside. It was not a stick, though it twirled in her beak like one, for it had no leaves - though it caught the breeze. It was the color of clouds before rain, though it shimmered finely, like those things she loved to collect. 

She hopped about with it in her mouth, finding it to be a touch unwieldy. This was no pretty bauble that she could bring to her nest.

Her keen eyes swept the area, and touched the sky.

Today was a fine day. Perhaps she would go visit her favorite scarecrow.

* * *

 

The scarecrow kept endless watch over the fields, a little glumly these days. The stick at his back, holding him upright, seemed more of a prison than a home to him now. The small block of wood under his straw-filled feet was the same.

_A shame, a shame._

He wanted to hang his head, but he did not. For he had pride in his work, and to have none would see him rot.

* * *

 

Crow #3 had such trouble with the-thing-that-was-not-a-stick, that she implored Crow #4 to help her. Neither of them knew their silently ascribed (by the scarecrow) names, but knew each other in the language of crow, which was not to be deciphered by those without flight. But if one were to try, they might be called Mary and Ralph. Crow #4 was a young male with a pretty blue sheen to his pristine feathers, which the scarecrow was secretly quite fond of.

 **Ca-Caw! Ca-Caw!** Ralph, Crow #4, bleated steadily, somehow, around the thing-that-was-not-a-stick as they carried it through the air.

Old Mary, Crow #2, found this vexing, to be honest, and wished that he had more of a sense of decorum about things. He was such a motormouth, endlessly filling the sky with his chatter. When he got older, perhaps, he would learn that beauty and brawn were not everything. For now, she tolerated him for his help and congratulated herself for not feeling overly testy about his raucous voice.

**Ca-Caw! Ca-Caw!**

**Ca-Caw!**

* * *

 

The scarecrow looked to the west, thinking he heard Crow #4’s somewhat astringent voice ringing out in the cold October air. He wasn’t sure when he’d started being able to tell them all apart, it had just sort of come naturally.

He always liked to see the young, blue-black crow, as he was very beautiful as crows go. However, he wasn’t all that sad to see him leave again; he was so very loud. 

To the scarecrow’s surprise, there was another crow flying with him. Right next to him, in fact. He thought he saw a flash of white as the wings flapped. If so, that would be Crow #3. She seemed older, was quiet, and rather refined as birds go. 

They flapped up to him, nearly flying straight into his face before back-beating the air to sort of hover in place. He did not raise his arms to protect himself, so he was glad they’d avoided a crash.

After what seemed like a heated debate between the two, Crow #3 snatched her prize from Crow #4’s shiny, ebony beak and flapped awkwardly to alight upon his head. She walked to the front of his shaggy hair, where equally shaggy bangs half obscured his dark eyes, and leaned over the edge, dangling her parcel in front of his face for his perusal. 

_It’s...._

It was a feather, bathwater grey. Long and slender, angular in the most intriguing of ways, there were also tiny rainbows in the pinpricks of light it reflected and a shimmer that was other-worldly.

_It’s..... beautiful._

Why, it was even more lovely than Crow #4, and that was saying something. 

It was the single most contradictingly beautiful thing he had ever seen. Plain, almost ugly at first glance, but then....

Crow #3 regarded him with her round black eyes. She could not tell if the scarecrow was pleased or not with her gift. She decided to assume he was beyond moved - though, in truth, he never did move much. Quite impressed with her own accomplishment, she took the thing-that-was-not-a-stick and tucked it into his coat pocket then lept into the sky in a flurry of wings.

* * *

That night, as the moonlight caught upon the feather, making it glow with a cool, pure blue, something happened.

“My sign?” The scarecrow wondered aloud. 

* * *

 

TBC

 

 


	3. Part 3: The Journey

**Chibi Theatre:**

**The Angel and the Scarecrow**

Part 3: The Journey

* * *

As is the way with many things of this earth, the unexpected managed to happen. And so it happened that night, when Scarecrow stepped off his perch.

There was a trick to it, walking. A seemingly easy thing to do, one foot in front of the other, but for those made of straw, it was dodgy at best.

Scarecrow hobbled along the winding dirt path that led out of the village, slouching (rather horribly, he suspected), now that he no longer had a firm stick at his back. He missed it, a little, but reminded himself that freedom came at a price.

* * *

“No, NO, Light, you mustn’t rush the song, you must feel the flow of it through your very being, like a golden wind, through to the tips of your wings!” the Choirmaster instructed him. 

 _What if I don’t want to ‘feel it to the tips of my wings’?_ Light thought churlishly. The man-angel was insufferable. Prancing about like he knew everything about everything. Light knew full well how to sing. He just didn’t _want_ to.

“Let your heart _soar_ and let your Essence guide you.”

 _Yeah, I’ll let something ‘soar’ all right,_ the littlest angel responded silently, snotty as hell. “Ow!” he yelped, a stinging pain zinging him suddenly.

The choir angels looked at him in concern. “Is something wrong, Light?” many of them murmured, eyes looking him over.

“Heh heh,” he laughed awkwardly as he started freaking out a little. “Fine. I’m fine. Just a little joke. Gotcha.” Angels weren’t supposed to feel pain. What in heaven was going on? 

* * *

 

Scarecrow walked all night before coming to a large gray rock, upon which he decided to sit and rest. He couldn’t remember ever feeling tired before.

While he waited for this strange ‘tired’ phenomena to pass, he took out his second-most treasured possession in the world. It was a feather, the twin of the one gifted to him by the crows. It, too, had that fascinating shine to its otherwise dull silver surface.

He turned it this way and that, admiring the microscopic prisms held in each little sparkle of light the feather reflected and wondered what sort of bird it had come from. Certainly none that he had seen before. Perhaps, if he kept on his journey, he might encounter one.

Bolstered by that thought, he got to his feet, not realizing that in addition to feeling fatigue, having feet at all was also new.

* * *

“Ow-ow-owie,” Light ground out as he plucked another dull feather from his gleaming wings. It was a stubborn one, making him screw up his face as he yanked at it.

He was getting used to the pain. Sort of. He just hoped he figured out what was wrong before he suffered premature balding of the wings.

“Sonnuvabit-” he gasped as it finally loosed its hold, making his head swim in a most unpleasant way. There was a trail of blood trickling from the spot on his wing. Before he could catch his breath, however, a new twinge jolted through his other wing.

He was pretty sure now that he was going to cry.

* * *

“Light, where are you hiding?”

“Nowhere,” he called back.

“Then why can’t I see your shining face?”

“Because I’m invisible,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the arch-angel Tobias said, not taking him seriously in the least. “Everyone knows only demons are invisible." 

 _Oh, God,_ Light wailed internally. _Am I turning into a demon??_

“Light, come out,” Tobias demanded, his tone becoming just this side of testy.

“What else do you know about demons?” Light asked fearfully. “Where do they come from?”

Tobias sighed, though not unkindly. “Why all the questions?”

“Please,” Light implored, voice fearful.

The arch-angel sighed again. “Well, as you know, demons are simply angels who fell from grace.”

“But what does that mean? How did they fall? Was it all at once? Or did something happen to them that slowly changed them?” 

“Light, is something bothering you?”

“Just answer the question, Tobias!” the young angel snapped, violating one of the pacts of speech that bid them to always speak respectfully and gently. **_Gah!_** He cried silently, curling in on himself as pain spiked in his wings.

The arch-angel, not knowing anything was wrong, continued speaking in his leisurely voice. “Some say that part of the host just fell that day, dropping right from the sky like so many raindrops. Though I have also heard that some of the fallen had slower changes of heart and mind which slowly made them unable to fly. That was all before my time, so I cannot tell you for certain.”

Great rolling tears flooded down Light’s cheeks one by one. _Plip, plip, plip._ More than the fear of Ascension, he now feared that he was going to become one of the fallen.

* * *

Scarecrow traveled and traveled. The people he met still looked upon him strangely, but it was less and less as time went on, and it was better than not being looked upon at all.

He’d found more feathers as he journeyed, not more than three, but it convinced him more than ever that he was on the right path.

His feet itched as he made his way, so he shuffled off the burlap booties that had covered them up till now. Dirt underfoot was an interesting sensation indeed. He wiggled his toes and found the action both pleasing and addictive.

The sun was bright overhead and the wind stirred his hair restlessly. He found himself wishing for his old hat. But, perhaps a new one?

“Excuse me, sir,” he said politely to a portly man in the small town square. “Where might I get a hat?”

The man looked at him with a gimlet eye, not sure what to make of him. In the end, however, he pointed to a shop on the other side of the busy area.

“Thank you kindly,” the scarecrow said.

The man nodded, then went about his business. 

He made his way to the shop of hats and spoke to the women at the counter. “I would like a hat, please,” he said in his most polite of voices.

She looked him up and down. “Are you to pay for this hat?” she inquired skeptically, suspicious - due to his attire - that he had little or no money.

He stared back at her blankly, having no idea what she was talking about. 

“What is your name, sir?” she inquired primly.

“I am the scarecrow,” he said in confusion.

“That is not a name,” she announced. “How can I possibly have a hat for someone without a name?” she said unreasonably, wanting rid of one who could not pay for her wares. “Begone, scarecrow.”

Scarecrow shuffled from the shop sadly, feeling rather empty and unsure of what to do. _What’s in a name?_ he wondered. 

* * *

All of heaven was surprised with young Light’s turnabout. He was suddenly making the most supreme of efforts in all of his endeavours and the host of angels was simply thrilled with the beauty of his song, the playing of his lyre, and his new, spotless record of behaviour. He was a shining example of all that anyone wished to be as one of the elite angels. They just hoped he wasn’t chosen soon as he was now very pleasing to be around, and an inspiration to them all.

As it turns out, fear is a great motivator.

Terror of falling from grace drove Light to try to master everything that came his way, in the hopes of saving himself from damnation.

He told no one what was on his mind.

No angel could be trusted with such a thing. He had to keep it secret by keeping it all silent. 

As long as he’d kept himself insanely busy bettering himself, he hadn’t had any of the pains. It seemed like his plan was working. The only problem was, he was wearing himself right out. If he didn’t take a break from it all, and soon, he wasn’t sure how long he could last. Could angels expire from stress?

And, well, the other _other_ problem seemed to be that everyone liked him so much better when he was not himself. They praised him for his conformity, for making himself **_not_** himself on the outside, and that pained him in a way that didn’t just hurt, but made him very sad.

* * *

 

TBC

 


	4. Part 4: Where Two Roads Meet

**Chibi Theatre:**

**The Angel and the Scarecrow**

Part 4: Where Two Roads Meet

* * *

 

The scarecrow lay down by a stream just outside of town to rest. He didn’t know what sleep was, so sitting or lying quietly was all he ever attempted. It made his hard, flint-like eyes look darker and more owlish than before.

He was just pondering what Magics or Science might make of the sky being blue, when something drifted, falling lightly upon his face.

When he lifted it off, expecting a leaf, he almost yelped in surprise seeing instead that it was one of his coveted feathers. _Oh, oh, oh, oh!_ he exclaimed in his head. He looked from left to right, hoping to catch a glimpse of his bird. It was _here_ , he was sure of it!

As he looked, however, he was distracted by something that sounded like crying. He’d encountered it before. Every once in a while, a village child had fallen on the rock-strewn dirt path outside the fields, scraping their knee. Crying meant pain. But he had also seen other examples of crying that were not from a physical hurt. Either way, someone needed help. Maybe even **_his_** help.

“Hello?” he called, pocketing the feather and looking around on the ground. He moved branches aside with spindly fingers that he hadn’t quite noticed weren’t there before. “Is someone there? Are you hurt? Hello?”

“Who are you?” a slightly sniffly voice asked.

Scarecrow looked around but could not find its source.

“I am the scarecrow,” Scarecrow responded. Melancholy filled him then, remembering the hat shop. “But I am told that is not a ‘name’, so if it is a ‘name’ you wish for, I cannot oblige you.”

“I do not wish for a name,” the soft, somewhat maudlin voice responded, “for I have my own.” It was sweet, endearing in a way. “Though I do know much about them. More than yourself, I suppose.”

“Where are you?” Scarecrow asked. “Can I see you?”

The littlest angel floated down from a tall tree, looking like the sun in the sky. Scarecrow was startled and awed. The boy-angel did not alight upon the ground but stayed hovering a foot or so above it. It seemed he liked the view, or possibly just enjoyed being tall and making the scarecrow look up.

Without knowing what to say, Scarecrow started speaking, “Could it be that you can give me _your_ name?” For one who knew all about names, surely finding another name to use would be easier for this shining boy than for one such as himself.

He was pleasing to look at and had the most beautiful white wings. Curious, though, he’d sworn the boy had flown down from the very tree he’d been under, but he saw not one feather upon him that wasn’t of purest white. He decided that the boy must be an angel; though he’d never seen one before, the scarecrow was quite certain.

The angel found this earth person to be of interest. Moreover, he found that he wanted to help him in some way. After all, he had shown concern for the pain of his losing yet another feather, something which now only the two of them knew about. He had been doing so well, maintaining his duties in heaven, but it all became too much pressure and he’d started slipping. He was utterly ashamed and had fled his home for a while, down to the earth below, where no one would find him in his misery. But now, he was distracted from all of that by this spindly, dark-haired creature.

“I cannot give you my name, as I have no _proper_ name at all any longer; it has been all but forgotten.” Light paused, considering. The nickname was anything but proper, though it was all he was known by anymore. “But, if you like... I can give to you the first letter of my other name?” He smiled shyly as if hoping his offering was worthwhile.

Scarecrow did not know exactly what he meant by that, but he was charmed by the angel, so he agreed.

The boyish angel’s expression turned quite solemn, and for a moment the scarecrow was afraid he’d displeased him. But then he began to glow with the most lovely light before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the scarecrow’s mouth.

“From this day forth, you shall be known as **L** ,” the angel announced, a somewhat triumphant look upon his now pink-cheeked face.

 _L? What an odd name,_ the scarecrow thought. But the angel looked happy and that made him happy, so he figured he’d get used to it somehow.

* * *

Light went back to heaven, feeling quite a lot better than he had when he’d left.

“Light!” the host exclaimed upon his return. “Where have you gotten to?” The flurry and commotion was quite overwhelming. He attempted a sheepish smile, though he felt the insistent urge to run away.

Within moments, he was thoroughly chastised, fretted over, and piled with loads of responsibilities to catch up on. To say he felt overwhelmed was a bit of an understatement. He bore it the best he could, hoping that at the least his good deed would see him through.

Light sang, shone, and strummed with everything he had in the coming days. He had no more tarnished feathers, and that was a good thing. However….

…. he found himself to be distracted.

Thoughts of the odd scarecrow creature drifted into his mind like soft eddies of wind upon the air. Thinking on him recalled to mind that warm feeling he’d had upon selflessly giving the other a name. Part of his own name, to be precise. Was it odd that the deed gave him a sense of something like ownership? Investment?

Sleepless dark eyes had held a strange quality in them at the moment of the gifting. They had seemed surprised, a little perplexed, but overall quite accepting and quietly intent upon him. Perhaps that was due to the name chosen… but perhaps it was in reaction to the bestowed kiss. He hadn’t meant to do such a thing, though the host were not adverse to such expressions of genuine feeling. But this was not one of the host, and he probably should not have acted so, not towards a being of earth.

Light rolled over upon the cloud he was resting on in his nighttime reprieve. Was there something so intimate about the giving of a name, that he couldn’t simply forget it and be on his way? A good deed had been done and angels were given to do such things with frequency, almost without thought. Yet, think upon it he had. He rather wanted to see the scarecrow once more, to look into the large dark eyes that were like flat pools of expressionless black. Something was curious about them. He wasn’t sure what, exactly. It was almost as if a mystery lay behind the dark curtains of that gaze, secrets or something equally compelling.

He absently parted the clouds with a delicate hand, looking toward earth.

Angels weren’t supposed to be preoccupied with the affairs of below.

He probably shouldn’t act upon the urge to go back, even for a short time. This he knew, so instead he simply watched. It took a little while but eventually his gaze fell upon his little scarecrow.

Light felt pleased at first, getting to watch over him, but it soon turned bittersweet. Confusingly, the scarecrow was perpetually alone. This wasn’t what Light had expected. He’d anticipated seeing the scarecrow live, move, interact. He also seemed sad and dejected. Was there something wrong?

Worry soon breathed within his angelic heart, causing a twinge that felt not unlike the pain of tarnished feathers. And with that foreign feeling of pain, fear began to take root. He linked pain to the tarnish, and the terror of becoming fallen.

He vowed to stop watching his scarecrow for a time, to regain his poise once more. As a distraction, he threw himself into his duties.

* * *

The scarecrow sat at the edge of a large lake, watching the sunset wash over everything with orange and pink and dying light. Somehow it was calm but also quite melancholy. He wondered what he was doing here. This journey had not become what he’d expected upon setting out. Townsfolk were still unwelcoming, or content to ignore his existence, and he didn’t quite understand why.

He missed the crows.

He also missed his field... and his stick perch.

What was he doing here, so far from home?

The scarecrow pulled out one of his feathers. It gleamed dully in the yellow ochre light. Unremarkable grey. The hidden rainbows were subdued to the point of being faded phantoms. This too seemed irreparably sad.

That first feather was a sign, or so he’d thought. But what had the trail of them done for him? Had they led him to something better? He couldn’t see that they had changed anything at all. He was still alone. Only now, he didn’t even have the company of the crows or the animals in the fields.

And what of the boy he’d met, the one with the pearlescent white wings that glowed like a white sun? The smile he’d shown after giving him part of his name - ‘L’… it had been a sight more compelling than any of the beautiful scenes he’d come to witness in his travels.

Afterwards, something such as a name almost seemed too fine for someone like him, so he felt reluctant to use it.

Scarecrow found himself wishing to meet with the boy’s shining countenance again, if only just to make sure it was really ok to use the name he’d been given.

* * *

 

TBC


	5. Part 5: Above and Below

**Chibi Theatre:**

**The Angel and the Scarecrow**

Part 5: Above and Below

* * *

The scarecrow woke beneath a starlit sky, not having been aware of falling asleep. Losing consciousness was a fairly new concept.

Green grass, black in the darkness, was soft and cool to the touch as he pushed himself upright. He wasn’t sure what had awoken him but he looked around vaguely as if trying to place a disturbance.

A paleness in the diamond-studded gloom caught his eye. Upon the grass before him was a slip of white-ish curiosity. He reached out to touch it and the starlight glimmered across it in the most beautiful way. Fingertips touched a familiar shape - the thin reed, softest down and smooth blade of a perfect feather.

He lifted it in the air, staring at it in awe. For as much as he was feeling the weight of doubt last night, and the immobility of sadness, finding this here and now seemed again like a sign. Of what sort, he wasn’t sure, but he was heartened by the discovery.

Oddly, a sensation of water touched his face and he pressed a hand to it, examining this inexplicable phenomenon. The wetness appeared to be leaking from his eyes. Strange. That had certainly never happened before. And, there was a funny feeling in his chest.

Could he recall ever feeling something in that area above his waist and below his chin? He didn’t think so. It seemed new.

Despite the funny feeling, he felt a little better than before. He laid back down and closed his eyes, cradling the new feather against his chest as he slipped back into sleep.

* * *

Light watched the scarecrow sleep. He’d suspected it earlier, but now he knew for sure after dropping this last one. The dark-haired being had found several of his feathers and seemed to find meaning in them as well.

He’d felt particularly moved the other night, seeing the scarecrow sad and alone, bathed in the glow of a fading sun.

The scarecrow had been regarding a single grey feather, his black eyes seeming as empty and as full as Light had ever seen them. It pulled at him and made him restless. His lips formed a lingering frown, unbecoming for an angel but inexorably connected to this feeling in his chest that demanded to be dealt with.

It had been hard to put all of these things out of his mind, harder still to keep up appearances as he went about his heavenly duties. The host regarded him with questioning eyes and he did his best to stop acting different. He did his best to ignore earth and that sunset image which made him feel sad and unfulfilled.

Eventually, compulsion bade him to descend. That, and a familiar tweaking in one wing that heralded a turning feather. He decided to test an idea he’d had and so he’d pulled the offending thing out and left it by the still form he’d been keeping watch over. He’d wondered if it was a fluke, what he’d seen with the scarecrow holding his feather. But it seemed he had more than one in his possession, so it wasn’t just a novel item which the scarecrow had regarded in hands not made of straw.

When the scarecrow awoke, not long after, those hands immediately sought and held the tarnished feather as if it were precious.

The shock of that hit Light like a blazing flash from the sun. He could hardly comprehend the sight. The dark-eyed scarecrow was treating this tainted feather - proof of his blighted existence - as something pure and beautiful. It brought denial to his heart and the brimming of tears to his eyes. The scarecrow couldn’t have known, but to Light it was like being accepted, for once, for **all** that he was - the imperfect along with the perfect.

This was something that he didn’t feel he could ever hope to have from the host, and something he was terrified to even contemplate hoping for at all. The host was perfect. All angels were supposed to be perfect. And yet, he was different. Something was wrong with him and all he could do was hide it. Hide, and hope never to be discovered.

Yet _this_ being, this one to which he had given part of his name… he had discovered evidence of his darkest secret and held it up to the light, not to judge but to _admire_.

* * *

Light returned to heaven, shaken and trying to process. Within days, worry over this was causing more of those pricklings which heralded the taint. Feathers started to color and turn, one by one.

Soon, he wouldn’t be able to hide it. He felt weak with the weight of this hanging over him, not to mention the number of feathers he’d had to rip out to keep from being discovered.

The arch-angel Tobias came to speak with him not long after.

“Light, is there anything the matter?”

Light hid the surprise which jolted through him, so on edge was he that small things were quite startling indeed. “No, nothing,” he lied. _Lied_. An angel deceiving another angel, an angel hiding truth... This was not right. This was not the way of things and the deception did burn within him, lighting his conscience on fire. His wings drooped with the heavy weight of it.

Tobias regarded him with a wise eye. “Secrets bear a heavy toll, young one. It is a weight best shared.”

“I am fine,” he lied again, feeling a sharpening twinge in his wings. He wanted to be left alone. Tobias would see through him, he was certain. And what would happen then? Would he be cast out of heaven directly? Would he fall into hell like the other fallen angels? It hardly seemed fair - he’d never plotted to overthrow anything, like they had, he just had this teeny problem with his wings trying to rot on him.

Tobias tilted his head, something catching his attention. He reached out towards one of Light’s wings, inspiring panic as he said, “What’s-?”

Light flipped out his wings, flapping them to shake them out. “Oops,” he said, “I forgot about that thing… I have to go.” It was a total bunch of BS, but he wasn’t about to sit still and allow the arch-angel to investigate the tarnished feathers. _OW_ , he winced internally as the lie translated into that nasty prickling sensation which heralded more of the taint upon his wings.

Alone, he tried to collect himself.

This, unfortunately, also meant missing a choral event or two as he found that he _couldn’t_ calm down and the tarnish was seeping through his feathers faster than he could pull them out. He was in a full on panic.

_Why was this happening??_

He’d been good! Mostly.

Well, he amended, he’d done everything that was required of him, everything that was asked of him. Perhaps not always with the most joyous of hearts… but in the end he still did it, still performed, strummed, and glowed with a will.

And perhaps he didn’t think of himself as being particularly ‘happy’, and the thought of Ascension did inspire panic… and no one else seemed to suffer such doubts… but he always kind of figured it was because he was still young. A few thousand years old, that was crumbs compared to some of the others. And it was actually impressive that the host thought he might experience Ascension so soon. They all had such high hopes for him, after all. He was teased, but he was also a favorite. He may have been a bit of a black sheep in this flock, but mostly they didn’t know - he kept that knowledge locked inside and did his best to blend in. They didn’t know his heart, or the individuality he treasured (while wondering now if it wasn’t also a curse).

* * *

Scarecrow walked along a dusty road, set on his travels. He’d not found any feathers since the one he’d found bathed in starlight, but he didn’t let that disappoint him. In hindsight, he wondered if the winged boy had perhaps visited him, as that feather had not been there when he’d lain his head to rest. He wondered then, why hadn’t he seen him, but perhaps the boy hadn’t wished to wake him.

He chose to feel gladdened by the visitation, optimistic that another might occur and that this time he might see his white winged name-giver as well.

In the softness of dusk that night, while resting beneath the canopy of a kindly tree, Scarecrow got his wish.

* * *

TBC


	6. Part 6: Gift

**Chibi Theatre:**

**The Angel and the Scarecrow**

Part 6: Gift

* * *

It was pleasantly warm, hazy evening, with the promise of coolness on the air. Scarecrow sat beneath a nice looking tree, taking his rest in the protective shelter upon soft grass. Whip-poor-will birds called out in sotto voices, creating a lovely backdrop of sound amongst the quiet whirring of crickets.

He gazed out into the landscape around him, admiring the velvety purple tone that settled upon everything. The night sky started to look crisp and sparkle as sunset pinks and yellows faded upon the horizon.

A gentle rustling caught his attention.

“Who’s there?” Scarecrow called out, thinking somehow that this was more than a breeze through the trees.

“It is I,” said a soft, almost maudlin voice from up above. “Have you forgotten me so quickly?” The tone was nearly petulant, but he didn’t believe that the words were meant for more than a way of testing him. His angel had come to visit him and appeared to be resting upon a branch somewhere above his head, though he could not see him.

“I’m not sure how anyone could forget you,” he answered truthfully, feeling a curious warmth touch his cheeks as he spoke the earnest words.

“And what is so memorable?” the angel asked amidst the faintest sound of twinkling bells that marked his subtle movements. Scarecrow rather liked that curiosity. He’d noticed it also the first time they’d met, as well as the stunning beauty of pure white wings.

The angel spoke again before he could answer. “My wings?” he prompted, an unknown quality to his voice. The words almost seemed to carry a hint of challenge, or mocking.

“Your smile,” Scarecrow answered earnestly. Everything about the other being was memorable, but the most beautiful, the most moving, had been the look upon his face after giving him the gift of a name.

That time, the touch of lips to his had not quite faded, nor had his surprise, and yet he was almost blinded by the tender warmth of that beatific, shy smile. Ageless golden eyes held his gaze and inspired that odd feeling he’d come to recognize in his chest - the feeling that was both stunning and humbling at the same time.

The angel was quiet for a while and they passed the time in silence. This didn’t bother the scarecrow as the winged boy did not seem in a hurry to leave.

“Did you like the name I gave you?” the angel asked after a time.

“Yes. Though it seems very short for a name.”

His truthful words inspired a laugh from his companion, a beautiful sound not unlike the merry chiming of tiny bells.

“Have you used it?”

Scarecrow thought about that. “No, it doesn’t seem that I have.” Not that the use of a name could use up the thing itself, but he almost felt like it would.

There was a slight rustling and the angel’s face peeked down at him. “How can you say that you like it if you also won’t use it? Why then did you want for a name?”

Again, Scarecrow thought about that. “Names are important. Everyone has one, and they didn’t like mine.” No one seemed to think ‘the scarecrow’ was a proper name.

“So use the one I gave you.” The angel seemed a little perplexed.

Scarecrow lay on the ground, hands beneath his head, gazing up into golden eyes and feeling quite at peace. “I’m not sure how.”

The angel thought about that. “Perhaps the name just doesn’t feel like your own.” He leaned out further from the branch. “I am Light,” he said. “What is your name?”

“I am the scarecrow.”

“Yes, but you also have a name. The scarecrow is simply what you _are_ , like how I am an angel.”

“Oh.” The scarecrow seemed to roll this about in his mind. “So it is like being two things, instead of just one?”

“That is a way to see it.” The angel smiled at him, and he felt that funny sensation in his chest again. Part of him wished to see it from up close, that expression. He demonstrated, “I am Light, and I am an angel.”

Scarecrow sensed this was some sort of practice. He dutifully followed the other boy’s example. “I am… L… and I am a scarecrow.”

“Good!” Light exclaimed approvingly, making Scarecrow feel warm inside. “Now, say it again.”

“...I am L, and I am a scarecrow?”

“Now, just your name.”

Scarecrow paused. This seemed monumental for some reason. He couldn’t quite place why. He gamely tried Light’s suggestion anyhow, wanting to please him. “I am L?”

“My name is…” Light prompted.

“My name is L.”

Scarecrow blinked rapidly, feeling a multitude of emotions inside of him at the statement.

It was an uneasy, unstabilized set of feelings. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, or what to do with himself.

“Now,” Light said, “here.” He tapped a graceful hand to his own head, as if to demonstrate thought.

Scarecrow’s uneasiness and worry amplified. This felt like it would change something, though he wasn’t quite sure what. He sat up.

Then, he stood.

“Hold out your hand,” Light said.

Scarecrow looked up to see that the angel was just before him, stunning, as always. He wore a soft expression, one that almost seemed vulnerable. Scarecrow stared at his face, committing that look to memory, and dutifully held out his hands.

Something almost as insubstantial as air touched his outstretched palms.

“For courage,” the angel said.

Scarecrow looked down and saw the most breathtaking white feather upon his hands. It glimmered with a golden sheen and seemed as if it was made of magic, hopes and dreams. “It’s…. beautiful.” He felt a little choked up. Who was he to deserve a gift such as this?

“Better than those others you have,” Light said with a touch of melancholy. “You should throw them out.”

Scarecrow shook his head. “Why would I?”

The angel seemed perplexed. “Why wouldn’t you? They are not as beautiful -”

Scarecrow shook his head. “They _are_ ,” he insisted. “They are just different.”

Light blinked at him.

“Here,” Scarecrow said, pulling one out. “I’ll show you.” He waved Light along as he moved out from under the tree. In the moonlight, he held out a tarnished feather.

Light felt uncomfortable, seeing his shame held out under the stars, but he also felt compelled to listen, to see what the scarecrow might show him.

“There,” Scarecrow said. “You see?” Dark eyes rested upon him encouragingly as he moved to take the tainted feather in hand. He could hardly believe his eyes. While the scarecrow held it, moonlit hidden rainbows had danced upon its surface and it had seemed a thing of magic and beauty.

For a moment, as he took it in hand, his heart sank. It looked dull once more.

Scarecrow took Light’s hand in his and tilted it just so, and the subtle rainbows danced again upon the surface, making his heart feel buoyant. This ugly thing….

“It’s all in how you look at it,” Scarecrow concluded, looking pleased. “Besides, I would never throw them out. They are very important to me.”

There were no words for how profound a moment this was for him.

Light turned shining eyes to his companion and almost felt as if he were about to cry. Instead, he threw arms around the scarecrow and hugged him, feeling that place in his chest swell, almost beyond his ability to bear it. _Thank you. Thank you._

Not only had the scarecrow shown him something beyond imagining, turning ugliness into beauty with the ease of a magician and saying it was merely perspective at work, but he’d been moved beyond words at what he’d said after. It was almost as if the tarnished feathers symbolized his whole self, and that the scarecrow found such value in _him_. That even with the promise of having just the pristine white, the scarecrow refused to part with the ‘imperfect’, to throw it off for something ‘better’.

Perhaps it was a fanciful notion but he allowed himself to feel it - the sense of wonder and belonging. “Say your name,” he whispered as he hugged the scarecrow, not wanting to let go, so he did not. “Inside,” he clarified, meaning in his mental voice.

“I’ll try,” the scarecrow said, not moving to displace him. Light felt him take a deep breath.

Scarecrow mustered his courage. “I am L,” he said to himself, building up to it. “...my name is L.”

Light murmured an encouragement in his ear. He felt his face flush a little, but he focused on this task before him. _I…. am L_ , he thought at himself, feeling the dissonance of the very thought. So long he’d been nothing but Scarecrow, it seemed odd indeed. _My name, is Scar-_

He broke off and tried again. This time he attempted to **_feel_** it. No longer was he a being made simply of straw, keeping watch over a field with his crows for company. Now he was something else. He was something that had hands and feet, a will, a mind, and… a heart? He was a being that an angel was bothering with, an angel who had so kindly given him part of his own name…

He mustered up everything inside of himself, clenched his eyes closed, and felt the white feather in his hand - the gift he’d been told was for courage.

_My name... is **L**._

And in that moment, in the darkness behind his eyes, he saw the truth of it, _felt_ the truth of it. He was no longer Scarecrow. He _was_ a scarecrow, but his name… His **_name_** was L.

* * *

TBC


	7. Part 7: Fulfillment

**Chibi Theatre:**

**The Angel and the Scarecrow**

Part 7: Fulfillment

* * *

The angel didn’t leave him for some time, which was unexpected, fleeting as their first and only acquaintance had been.

L put a hand to his lips, reliving the soft kiss that accompanied his rebirth as a new being. How perfect, it seemed, that as he was accepting the new concept of his _Self_ , it was done so in the embrace of his winged companion. More perfect still, that it was concluded with the fleeting softness of the angel’s mouth touching his.

It was nothing but chaste, the kiss, and the emotions it called up were as gentle as they were strong. The scarecrow, now known as L, felt inexorably tied to his companion with the gold eyes. Their gaze seemed to him like liquid sunshine, fascinating, and he found that he didn’t much want to look away.

They talked of things, and sometimes just sat quietly, reflecting upon the view of the land. Throughout it all, L was very aware of his companion, taking in every detail, nuance and expression.

He felt very much at peace.

Except for one thing.

“Light?” he used the angel’s name, even though he almost felt unworthy to even speak it. He’d been encouraged to use it, however, just as Light had encouraged him to get used to the sound of his own new name through repetition.

“Yes?”

It had been bothering him, and he almost felt bad asking, but there was something different he’d noticed. “Is there a reason you aren’t showing your wings?”

The other boy froze.

Such a reaction furthered that feeling he’d had of guilt and reluctance at even asking. But he still wanted to know. He waited patiently.

After a time, Light said, “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” L said, thinking on his words, “it seems to me that you are keeping them closed, held tight. When first we met, they were-” he gestured widely to indicate the spread “-quite a sight.”

The reaction in his companion was visible, palpable.

“Light?” It almost seemed like something was wrong. The angel looked different than L had ever seen him. His luminosity seemed dimmed and his gold eyes were flat. He wrung his hands and almost looked as if he meant to run away.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?” L asked, worry blossoming in his chest with even more insistence. He reached for the boy’s hand, to try and offer some comfort but the other moved away. “Of me?”

“Of telling you.” A particularly pained expression crossed his beautiful face. He looked away and said quietly, “I’m afraid you’ll see me differently.”

“I won’t.” L was certain of this.

True fear flashed upon the angel’s face as he contemplated sharing his secret. “No one knows. I’ve hidden it from everyone.”

A single feather fell softly to the ground at Light’s feet. It was grey and caught no moonlight. It looked dull and insignificant next to the shining form of the angel and the closed edges of his glowing wings.

L stared at it and then looked back up at his friend. He pointed, unnecessarily, and asked, “Is that yours?” Light had frozen still the moment the feather began to drift down. His gold eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted to cry.

L wasn’t quite sure what to do. His companion was obviously upset, though he still didn’t know the reason why.

The scarecrow walked over to him, dark eyes requesting that Light stay in place and not flee like he looked set to do. The angel’s slim shoulders were scrunched tight in misery, almost as if expecting a blow to fall upon him. He stopped just before his friend, who he now saw was shaking slightly. His pretty face looked aggrieved. L wanted to comfort him but wasn’t sure how. Instead, he bent down and picked up the feather. Turning it just so, where they both could see, it caught the light and glimmered rainbows. “This is yours,” said he, “And the rest must be-”

It was a profundity, to think that his treasured feathers, all of them, were from-

Large tears rolled down Light’s cheeks, silently. “I didn’t even pull that one out. It must be so much worse now.”

He seemed so very upset.

“Are you dying?” The worry gripped L harshly.

The angel’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t know.”

The scarecrow lifted a hand to touch his cheek, tenderly brushing away a wet trail. Even his tears were beautiful, looking like liquid diamonds. Still, they were evidence of great upset, and so he would rather brush them away. “Show me your wings?” L asked softly.

Tear studded lashes lowered over the trembling gold gaze, hiding fear, shame, and grief. Clenching his eyes tight, Light made himself slowly unfurl his wings, spreading them wide open and feeling the shame wash over him, nearly drowning him.

Light couldn’t make himself open his eyes or look at the scarecrow. He was terrified of what reaction he might receive. His wings had become unsightly - threadbare, tattered and tainted all over. He’d pulled so many feathers free that there were spaces now between them. They looked to him now like demon’s wings.

“Is it the color that upsets you?” the scarecrow asked, tilting his head to the side as if he couldn’t see the ghastly abomination that was once snow white wings.

The angel looked at him, horrified. Almost worse than being disavowed was this… denial of the fact that was right before the eyes of all heaven and earth. Was his scarecrow missing more in his head than he’d thought? Being a scarecrow and all, one might expect L to not be so smart, but Light had discovered that he was bright and insightful.

Dark eyes stared calmly back, and Light was becoming quite certain that his scarecrow had lost his mind. “Can I keep this?” L asked, indicating the feather.

Confusion still infused him, but he nodded.

“Seems to me,” the scarecrow said, “that both colors are pretty.” He paused, and reached out to touch a wing.

Light felt his throat tighten with emotion.

“Perhaps if you didn’t just pull them all out-”

Light couldn’t let him finish that statement and hear him speak of the state of his wings and how ratty they must be. He threw his arms around the scarecrow and buried his face in his surprisingly warm shoulder.

He felt safe, almost protected somehow from this horrible fate, though evidence of such was still attached to his back.

“Are you sure they are _supposed_ to be white?” L asked dubiously, stroking a hand across the edge of a wing.

“Everyone’s wings are white,” he mumbled into the scarecrow’s chest.

“Hm?” L supposed. “But maybe you’re different.”

Light pushed him back and gave him a complicated look. “Why would I be different? What good would that do?”

The scarecrow shrugged. “Well, I did get to meet you.”

Gold eyes blinked at him, quite round. “True.”

“And, I suspect that these,” he held up a greyling feather, “were more important to everything than we know.” It did seem that things had changed with every new feather he’d found. He felt sorry to know, however, that the angel had been hurting himself to throw them out.

Light suspected L might be right. He wasn’t sure why. But, L seemed to be quite convinced. He rested his head back upon the scarecrow’s chest and closed his eyes. The feeling of safety and acceptance flowed over him once more, warm and soft. He realized that for the first time in a long while, he felt at peace. Arms wrapped around him and his heart also felt happy.

* * *

The arch-angel Tobias watched over them.

Light was too young to see such things, but his Essence glowed the strongest now as it ever had. Fractured before, it was now whole.

He had finally opened his heart.

He’d allowed someone in, to accept him and to be accepted. His wings were mending, grey and white. Soon, the tarnish would no longer touch them.

It was love that healed him, and selflessness; it was learning to see with new eyes.

Tobias said nothing, nor would he. Divine plans had a way of working themselves out, and it seemed like this one had been of benefit to not one, but two souls.

The scarecrow, that was once nothing but straw, nervously asked their little angel if perhaps he’d want to stay.

Light didn’t have to be an angel - especially if his heart was not suited for it.

There was always a choice, though many didn’t discover truth of this. Those that did usually _Ascended_. In rare cases, the doubt at the core of one’s being caused the tainted feathers to appear. They were caused by the internal conflict - the lack of unity within one’s self. Light didn’t have to be an angel. But if he hadn’t have been, he wouldn’t have dropped the feathers, healed L, or subsequently healed himself.

Staying on the earth was an option, though his wings would fade over time like mist in sunlight.

If he liked, Light would have a chance again to be an angel. And, if he realized the truth and nature of free will for himself, he could _Ascend_ from even such a place as earth. One needn’t be in Heaven for that. Though, most beings needed time to unify themselves and it was a good place for it.

Tobias smiled down upon them, heart lightened by the sight of the youngest of the host looking so very happy as he agreed to the proposal.

One day, he could be an angel once more. But for now, he could simply live out his days as he chose, and the rest could be sorted in his after life.

* * *

END

 **A/N:** Each feather gifted the scarecrow with something new, making him more real. Everything was alluded to in the story but here is the actual list. He received a total of 7 feathers. The white one was number 6. The last one was grey, and where Light finally opened up and admitted to the state of his wings, and opened his heart to be accepted.

1- will

2 - mind

3 - feet

4 - heart

5 - hands

6 - courage

7 - love

**Thank you for reading! :D**

**A/N 2:** (One of the only stories of mine that managed to stay PG. lol. I tried to keep it sweet. Hope ya’ll liked it!)

 


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